Mother Dean
by willowscribe
Summary: "Dean is seven and Sam is three and has a booboo." Eight moments in Sam's childhood where Dean was more of a parent than a brother.


**Okay, so I'm kind of really in love with this one. I love parental stuff, so when I got one of these "moments" dancing around in my head last night, I knew I had to write something. Cross posted on AO3. Enjoy!**

_Mother Dean_

**[1986]**

Dean is seven and Sam is three and has a booboo.

Toddling around the newest sleazy motel room is a dangerous prospect at best. The floorboards beneath the stained carpet are uneven, and for a three-year-old without the best balance in the world, it's an easy thing to tip over and whack an elbow against the low coffee table.

Tears spring unbidden into Sam's eyes. He sniffles loudly, and Dean looks up from his comic book. "Oh, Sammy. Come here," he says, his voice soft, as it always is when it comes to his baby brother.

Sam stands up and makes the few steps from the coffee table to the couch. Dean puts his comic book aside and bends over, picking Sam up by the waist and placing him on his lap. "You okay?" he asks.

Sam buries his face in his brother's chest in response. Dean smiles gently. "Here, let me see. That's it. Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Sam nods, still a little teary-eyed. Dean bends over, arm still wrapped firmly around Sam, and places a kiss on his little brother's elbow. "There you go," he says. "All better." He reaches up to Sam's face and wipes a tear track away. "That's what your mommy would do every time I had a booboo. And do you know what? It always made it better."

"Thank you," Sam mumbles.

Dean beams indulgently. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes."

"Okay then." He gently lifts Sam off his lap and puts him back down on the floor. "Be careful of coffee tables from now on, okay?"

**[1988]**

Dean is nine and Sam is five and is going to his first day of kindergarten.

"It's no big deal," Dean assures Sam as he walks him to his classroom, Sam's sweaty little hand clutched firmly in his own. "You don't do anything in kindergarten expect read stories and learn shapes."

"But what if I'm bad at it?" Sam whimpers quietly. "What if the kids don't like me?"

"Of course the other kids will like you," Dean says. "And it's impossible to be bad at kindergarten anyway. Besides, you're really smart. You could probably pass my classes if you wanted."

Sam laughs weakly. "But what if the teacher is mean?"

"She won't be. I'm going to talk to her right now to make sure, okay?" They've arrived at the door to Sam's classroom, Room E7. Dean pushes the door open and finds a chaotic scene. Shy students are clinging to their parents; brave students are running around the room chasing each other. The teacher is a young woman who looks both frazzled and ecstatic.

"Hi," Dean says to her as he leads Sam inside. "This is Samuel Winchester."

"Hello," she says kindly. "Are you Samuel's brother?"

"Yup. Our dad works, so he couldn't be here. Say hi, Sam."

Sam buries his face against Dean's side. "Sam's a little shy," Dean explains. "He was nervous since it's his first day."

The teacher smiles widely and crouches down to be eye level with Sam. "Don't worry, Sam," she says. "It's everyone's first day. I know a lot of people are nervous. But I'm sure you and the other kids will get along fine, and your brother will be back to pick you up before you know it. I'm Miss Temple," she adds, standing up and shaking Dean's hand.

"A pleasure, Miss Temple," Dean says. "I'm sure Sam will fit in just fine."

"That's absolutely right," Miss Temple says. "I'll just check his name off on the attendance. Sam? Do you want to go play with the other kids?"

Sam looks up at Dean, and Dean gestures for Sam to join a group of boys pushing trains around. A second more, and then Sam slips out of Dean's grasp and is walking up to the other boys.

**[1990]**

Dean is eleven and Sam is seven and wants a Hot Wheels Car.

They're at a new school (of course), and the big thing in elementary school is Hot Wheels.

Sam comes back into the motel room looking upset, and Dean, who is now a middle-schooler and gets home an hour earlier, is waiting. "Sammy, what happened?" he asks as Sam lets himself into the room.

"Nothing," Sam mumbles.

"Shut up," Dean says seriously. He's eleven, and thinks his newfound foul mouth is badass. "I can tell when you're lying to me. What happened?"

Sam sighs. "It's nothing, it's stupid. It's just… today at recess I went over to talk to the other boys and I asked if I could play with them and Robbie said I could but I needed a Hot Wheels Car because they were having races where they let their cars run down the slide and see who wins but I couldn't borrow anyone else's car because they pick them out special but I can play with them but I just need to bring my Hot Wheels Car but _I don't have a Hot Wheels Car_, Dean!"

"Whoa, calm down there, tiger," Dean says. "Who says you don't have a Hot Wheels Car?"

"_I_ do because I _don't_!" Sam shouts.

"Not necessarily." Dean stands up and swipes a twenty off the stack of emergency cash their dad had left before he'd gone on his latest job. "There's a K-Mart about a mile away. We're going to go get you a Matchbox Car."

"Right now?" Sam asks warily.

"Yes, right now."

Dean leads Sam outside and slowly but surely they begin the mile-long trek down the road to the local K-Mart. Sam tires quickly, so Dean hoists him up onto his back and gives him a piggy-back ride the rest of the way.

When they arrive in the store, Dean leads Sam to the toy section immediately. "Wow…" Sam whispers to himself, gazing at all the expensive toys he's never been allowed to have.

"Right here, Sammy," Dean says, gesturing to the bin of Hot Wheels Cars he's found. "They're even on clearance. Find one you like."

Sam can't reach to the top of the bin so Dean grabs him by the waist and lifts him up so he can paw through the mass of small cars. Finally, Sam settles on a turquoise car with white and yellow stripes.

"A '57 Chevy," Dean comments as he puts Sam down. "Nice choice."

He leads Sam to the cash register, where a smiling woman looks down on them. "Are you waiting for your mom?" she asks as Dean puts the car on the counter.

Dean flashes a winning grin. "Mom said if I wanted a car, I should buy it myself."

The woman beams at him. "Well, isn't that nice!" She scans the car quickly and Dean pays her with the twenty. "Would you like your receipt in the bag?" she asks.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean says, just like his father always does when he buys groceries and cigarettes at the nearest minimart.

"Here you go, dear," the cashier says, handing Dean the bag.

"Thank you," Dean says again, then takes Sam by the hand and leads him away. When the cashier isn't looking to see if they've met up with their mom, the two brothers slip out the door.

The whole walk home, Dean holds Sam's hand firmly in his own, making sure that he stands between Sam and the road. Sam plays with his new toy in his free hand, whooshing it though the sky like it's a bird.

The next day, Sam comes home with a big grin on his face. "Robbie said he liked my Hot Wheels Car and we raced them down the slide and I even won once!"

"That's great, Sammy," Dean says with a smile on his face. "That's really great.

**[1992]**

Dean is thirteen and Sam is nine and wants to have a birthday party.

"But Deeeeeeean," Sam whines, bouncing in his seat on the cheap couch, "all the other boys have birthday parties. I even went to one."

"Other boys, Sammy, but not you. We'll celebrate your birthday together, just the two of us. Okay?"

Sam pouts. "But all the other boys have cake and presents and all of their friends come over to their houses and they play games and hang out together. Why can't I invite a few friends over, Dean? It doesn't have to be a lot of people? Just a few."

Dean sighs, sounding far more world-weary than any thirteen-year-old should. "We live in a _motel_, Sam," he says slowly, like he's trying to spell the problem out. "A _motel_."

Sam looks upset for the rest of the evening, even though Dean makes his favorite brand of boxed macaroni and lets Sam have seconds.

On Thursday, Dean gives Sam a cupcake with a candle and tells him to make a wish. Sam blows the candle out with a single puff, and not a word about a birthday party is heard again.

It's Saturday when Dean announces that they're going to the local park. "It's too nice to sit inside, Sammy," he says when Sam gives him a questioning look. "Go and play like a normal kid or something."

Once they reach the park, Dean can't help but notice Sam's eyes longingly sweep over a group of picnic tables set up for a party. There are colorful streamers wrapped around the trees and balloons tied at the end of the tables. "Let's go over there," Dean suggests.

"Why?" It comes out more aggressively than Sam had planned.

"Because I said so. Now go."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Sam begins the trek over to the party. He doesn't know what kind of point Dean's trying to prove here, but he'll be damned if he gives Dean the satisfaction of proving that birthday parties really don't matter.

Instead, he almost walks straight into a banner that reads "Happy Birthday Sam!"

From behind the large tree that shades the picnic tables, five or six boys from Sam's class appear and shout, "Surprise!"

When Sam turns around with wonder in his eyes, Dean's looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

There's cake and presents and games and it's everything Sam had ever asked for in a birthday party. He and his friends run around the playground and play tag and wrestle in the grass while Dean supervises with a smile.

It occurs to Sam that Dean's never had a birthday party like this.

**[1994]**

Dean is fifteen and Sam is eleven and has a role in the middle school play.

"You'll be fine," Dean reassure Sam as Sam bounces around the motel room nervously.

"Will you be there tonight?" Sam asks, more for the sake of saying something than out of actual curiosity.

"Of course," Dean says. "I wouldn't miss your premiere as an actor!"

"Will Dad be there?"

Dean pauses. "Probably not," he admits, his voice harder than usual. "But I _will_ be. I'm sure if Dad makes it back from his hunt in time, he'll go and see it some other day. Your shows runs through Sunday, right?"

Sam nods, but looks bitter. "He won't be back. He never is. He doesn't care."

"Sam!" Dean barks. Sam jerks his head up sharply to meet Dean's eyes. "I don't care what you think about our dad, but do not _ever_ say that he doesn't care about us. He does. More than you can ever know."

"You're more my dad than he is," Sam mutters petulantly.

"I am your _brother_," Dean says. "_Dad_ is your dad. Don't let me hear you say something like that again, alright?"

"Yes," Sam says, still sounding grumpy.

By the curtain call that night, the argument has almost completely faded away. As Sam takes his final bow, Dean stands and applauds as loudly as he can. Maybe, he thinks, if he applauds loudly enough, he can make up for the empty seat next to him.

**[1996]**

Dean is seventeen and Sam is thirteen and has a parent-teacher conference.

When Dean comes strolling into the classroom where Sam and his teacher, Mrs. Parsons, sit, Sam can't help but sigh heavily. He expected to see Dean, of course, but it's still a bit of a letdown. He can't help but wish it was his father.

"Hello, Mrs. Parsons," Dean says, extending a hand to Mrs. Parsons to shake.

Mrs. Parsons does reach out to shake his hand, but says, "I'm sorry, but you don't look like Sam's father…"

"I'm his brother," Dean assures her with an easy smile. "But I'm his legal guardian."

Mrs. Parsons blinks. "I'm sorry, but how old are you?"

"Seventeen," Dean says, like it's not a problem. "I'm emancipated. All the legalities check out, so don't worry about that. Should we get on with this conference?"

Mrs. Parsons takes a second to go over all this new information before pulling on her reading glasses. "Yes, of course," she says, leaning over her paperwork and pulling out a mid-year report card. "Sam is doing very well in all of his classes. He doesn't talk much to the other boys, but that's to be expected for a new student." She glances at Sam. "He's generally well-liked, just not very social."

"Which is fine," Dean says, his tone almost daring her to try and contradict him.

"Yes, of course it's fine," Mrs. Parsons says quickly. "Just a note I made. Other than that, Sam is doing very well. He's organized and mostly completes his work on time."

"Awesome," Dean says. "I'm glad. Is that all?"

"Not quite." Mrs. Parsons digs though her pile of papers. "I'd like to have Sam tested for intellectual giftedness. If he'd been at this school longer, he'd have been tested long ago." She pushes a piece of paper at Dean. "If you just sign that, we can proceed with the tests."

"And what happens if Sam is identified as gifted?"

Mrs. Parsons gestures to a line on the paperwork. "At the middle school level, we offer a class for gifted students as an elective class. He'd be with other students who are intellectually similar. The class focuses on higher thinking and reasoning. Honestly, I think Sam would thrive in an environment like that."

Dean pulls the paper towards him. "I just sign here?"

"Yes."

Dean scribbles his signature on the dotted line without a second thought.

**[1998]**

Dean is nineteen and Sam is fifteen and his girlfriend wants to meet Dean.

Laurie Schaffer is a sophomore like Sam, and she's smart and funny and everything Sam likes in a girl. They've gone to the movies twice, one time where they actually watched the movie and a second time where they spent the entire time in the back row making out. Sam feels quite pleased with the relationship he has and is content to let it progress the way it is until –

"Sam, when do I get to meet your dad and brother? You talk about them all the time."

Sam winces awkwardly. "Laurie… you probably… I mean you really don't want to meet them."

Laurie huffs loudly. "That's bull, Sam. Of course I want to meet them! They're your family!"

"My dad is away…" Sam tries to explain awkwardly.

"Fine, then just your brother." She gives Sam her best puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

Finally, Sam relents. "Just don't be disappointed when things don't work out like you wanted," he warns her. "My family isn't exactly… normal."

Because he's not quite ready to let Laurie know that he lives in a motel room, he arranges to meet her for pizza at a local Italian place. Then he goes home, facing the prospect to telling Dean that he has a girlfriend, that he's actually had this girlfriend for a while, and most importantly, that she wants to meet him.

As expected, Dean is pissed.

"You have a girlfriend! And you didn't tell me?"

"Dean…" Sam says, trying to placate him. "It hasn't been that long. And she's really nice. She really wants to meet you."

"Are you being safe?"

Sam blinks. "What?"

"I said, are you being safe? No way you're knocking some girl up and leaving her here when we leave in a month."

"Dean!" Sam exclaims, scandalized. "We're only fifteen!"

"So?" Dean grunts. "I've seen it happen to kids younger than you, Sammy. Don't be one of them." He pauses for a moment. "Have we ever had the Talk?"

"I'm leaving," Sam says, crossing the motel room to the front door. "I don't need to hear this."

"Sammy, this is important!" Dean shouts behind him as Sam closes the door. "Have we ever had the Talk?"

When Sam returns later that night, Dean has decided that it's about time Sam got the Talk. "Dean, I've known this since forever," Sam protests, trying to think of any way out of this situation.

It doesn't help.

Dean seems to find it hilarious when he goes in-depth in his descriptions of all the possible ways to have sex, growing more and more obscene just to make Sam uncomfortable. Sam had learned all the science in biology and all the health in sex ed, but he'd never heard the details with such… pornographic descriptions.

Dean ends the night by giving Sam a condom and telling him to be careful.

Sam decides he'd rather be a virgin forever than sit through that again.

**[2000] **

Dean is twenty-one and Sam is seventeen and is trying to figure out his application of Stanford.

"Dean, can you help me with this?"

"I'm not going to be any help, Sam," Dean says with a sigh, but stands up to loom over Sam's shoulder as he works at the rickety motel table. "I still don't know why you're even set on this in the first place. You should be working with me and Dad, not going off to some posh school to be a lawyer."

"This is what I _want_, Dean," Sam says forcefully.

A pause, and then Dean says, "What part can't you figure out?"

"Permanent mailing address. Do we even have one?"

"We have a P.O. box, I think," Dean says. "Leave it blank for now; I'll look it up later."

"Okay. I have to describe my background. Where are our families from?"

"Winchester is English and Campbell is Scottish," Dean says without much thought. "Put that."

"Campbell…" Sam says quietly. "Was that Mom's maiden name?"

"You didn't know that?" Dean sounds abashed. "Yeah, it was Campbell. Her father was Samuel Campbell. You're named after him."

"Really?" Sam hadn't heard any of this before.

"Yeah. What's the next section?"

"Did Dad go to college?"

"No, he was a mechanic straight out of high school. Mom didn't go either. They got married pretty much right away."

Sam nods absently, filling in the information for both his parents and then Dean under the section for legal guardian. "There's only four spots for secondary schools," he complains.

"Just put the most recent ones. They'll figure it out."

Sam does. "Do you think I can get into a school like Stanford?" he asks. "Honestly?"

"Honestly, Sam, I think you can do anything you set your mind to," Dean says, and his voice is gruffer than usual. "I'm not happy about it!" he adds, sounding more like himself. "But if you want to get in, I have no doubt that you will."

It's as close to acceptance as Dean will ever come regarding the whole college situation. When Sam receives his acceptance letter two months later, Dean even smiles.

"Look at you, fancy college boy," he says, and there's laughter mixed with sadness in his tone. "I must have raised you right."


End file.
